CHAPTER 25 – SNEAKING AROUND
Carterson looked and felt around for a key, but didn't find one. "Now what?" he asked.
"At a guess, we can stand around here and die of thirst if we don't get caught first. Or we can go back and hope we don't run into whoever is wiretapping my desk and messing with security cams, etc. If we do get caught, we can hope they aren't bloodthirsty. If they are bloodthirsty, we can hope security will help us out when we need them most."
"Not stellar options, are they? Especially not in a week when a traitor has drilled bullets into the chief and we don't know how big the ring is yet."
"I'm open to suggestions."
Since there wasn't a better deal on offer, they went back. When they reached the closet in Darlene's office, they listened carefully before opening the door.
Listening carefully only helps if the person on the other side is making any noise. Devlon Sarton-Zaffino, a young fellow from the foreign policy analysis department, was quite surprised to see the pair of them come out of the closet, disheveled and dusty, and looking quite sheepish at getting caught.
"I got trapped in this part of the building when the lockdown happened," he said. "I hope you don't mind that I've waited in your office?"
"Aren't the fire doors working properly? I thought they were supposed to ease open at the side to let people slip through as needed?" Darlene asked.
"We seem to be having a glitch or two. At least I couldn't get the bloody things to work and got tired of feeling about in the dark for openings or trigger switches."
Devlon suddenly decided that 'feeling about in the dark' etc. was an unfortunate thing to have said in the presence of two persons who had just emerged disreputably from a dark closet. "At least you had light in here," he mumbled, by way of trying to explain why he'd perched in Darlene's office. That didn't seem to make things better. "We're not having a real emergency are we? I assumed it was another of our interminable drills," he said.
For answer, Darlene motioned him to where he could see her screen. She minimized the "Network under maintenance" message, and pulled up the security camera readouts. She pointed out that they were for the wrong day.
"Again?" Devlon said.
"Again?" Carterson asked. "I hadn't heard about it happening before."
"We thought it was just in our department, and Creasey, that's the Old Man, you know, he said he'd get it fixed," Devlon said.
"Creasey directly, or through someone?" Darlene asked. "Think, Devlon. How exactly did you find out about the problem, and how did you find out that it was being addressed?"
"Finding out was easy. I stumbled across it myself last week. Rather late in the day, as it turns out. I showed it to Williams, and she said not to worry, that Creasey already had people onto it. Why?"
On a hunch, Darlene set the speakerphone option and called Creasey. She had a little chat framed in terms of trying to find out how serious the security cam problem was, and whether he'd had any experience with anything similar before. He hadn't. She thanked him for his input, and rang off. "Well, gentlemen? You heard as much as I did."
"Williams lied to me?" Devlon said, puzzled and hurt.
"Likely we shouldn't call her out on it just yet," Carterson said, tossing his arm fraternally across Devlon's shoulders. "Likely she had a good reason. We'll find out in good time, I'm sure."
Darlene started to quibble, but caught herself. Carterson's way encouraged Devlon to avoid the subject for the present. Probably that was wise, she thought. Although, to be sure, Devlon had at least half a head on him... Hmmm… And hadn't he been on that study group…? "Devlon, do you know anything about secret passages in this building?" she asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I was on the cataloging committee for that, right after I helped solve the pensions mess."
"There was a cataloging committee for secret passages?" Carterson said.
"Your taxes at work," Devlon joked.
"Right. Well, I'm worried about ours," Darlene said. "Our passageway, I mean. It's open this end, and locked that end. It seems to have had some use lately, and I can't remember where it goes to."
"I shouldn't worry too much," Devlon said. "If I remember right, that goes to Dr. Orchard's office. I can't see he'd do anything other than pretend he's getting ready to save one and all should the occasion arise. Drills, you know. If he bothers you, I'm sure your Stolemaker could have something done to shut him off."
"Thank you, Devlon. You've taken a load off my mind," Darlene said.
-
Dr. Orchard was increasingly agitated as the lockdown continued. It wasn't like a drill at all. Drills were shorter. Drills more often involved evacuations than trapping people where they happened to be.
He kept stepping out to the broader office and wandering around, checking who was at his desk and who wasn't. It was driving his underlings nuts.
Finally, on one round, everyone stopped to stare at him. A nervous little man sidled up to him, grabbed his arm, and pointed furtively at the open, half-empty booze bottle Orchard had unwittingly carried out with him.
"Bravo," Orchard slurred. "Points to you. I wondered whether anybody around here noticed anything whilst under stress or not. It's amazing how many people I've strolled past who missed this. Bravo, I say. We need more men like you." He turned, and made his way back to the quiet of his office with exaggerated dignity.
"Drunk, is he?" someone asked.
"I shouldn't want to say," the nervous little man said, before scooting back to his desk.
Orchard locked himself in his office. He tried again to find out what the lockdown was about. All he could get was that there had been a security breach and everyone was to remain calm whilst the matter was sorted. Whoopee. His whole staff had that much information. It was being broadcast over the rummy public address system every four and a half minutes. They might have at least made it every five minutes exactly, he thought. More orderly, that would have been. That it was four and a half minutes made him worry that his clocks were off. All of them. Wall clock. Computer clock. Phone clock. That they stayed neck and neck as time progressed reassured him some, but irritated him greatly, since he could not believe that announcements would be timed on a 270 second cycle. It was 270, wasn't it? For the tenth time in as many minutes, he multiplied 4.5 times 60, just to be sure.
He tried to shift his attention to other matters.
He couldn't mentally untangle the lockdown from the absences of Dennis Uppington and Janice Pendergrast. The next level up – nearly to the very pinnacles of government – had sent a cover sheet: bam, no warning, the both of them were temporarily on assignment elsewhere. The duration was indefinite. This happened from time to time, of course. Usually there was no explanation offered, and a person was not – repeat not – supposed to ask questions.
But Uppity? And Mzzzzzz Pendergrast? How'd they get to be important all of a sudden? Who would need them? It was very odd. It was more than odd. It was troubling.
He wasn't quite sure if he heard someone in the secret passage. Maybe he dreamed it, he decided. Pammy would have stopped to say hello. Pammy adored him, Pammy did. She was uncommonly smart, was Pammy. And brave. And dedicated. Not like some people. Not like most of his staff, for instance.
Orchard put his head on his desk and dozed. What felt like hours later, he thought he heard his staff applauding. The cretins generally did applaud at the end of drills. Said it was the custom of the agency, and had been for decades. Showed proper spirit, or something. Or disdain, as the case might be. The malcontents out there were trying to be satirical, he just knew it; quite probably at his expense, too.
He fell fast asleep thinking ill of his subordinates.
Not Exactly Allies Page 25